


Mesdieux-sur-Mer

by Peter_Yellowhammer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods, Anti-Rape Message, Egregious Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, I spent way too much time on this, Intimacy, It was supposed to be short and dumb, It's long and dumb instead, M/M, Not even slightly realistic, Orgies, Ridiculousness, Silly to Serious to Silly, TW: (failed) rape attempt, Touch Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 04:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/935294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peter_Yellowhammer/pseuds/Peter_Yellowhammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[WARNING: If you dislike valvert, or are just a casual fan, you may find this fic to be annoying. If you dislike blatant sex, or sex as a fix-it, you will definitely find this annoying.]</p><p>I read the Harem of M-sur-M idea on Tall-Dwarf22's tumblr (you amuse me :3), and it infected my brain, so I wrote something on it. But then it got weird. I had the best of intentions, but it kept changing on me! Anyway, I hope you and everyone else enjoys this gift!</p><p>SexGod!Valjean O_O. Javert? Well, read it and see. This is also OOC in parts because LOOK AT THE AU WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME DX</p><p>To put it vaguely, Inspector Javert has a very interesting first day in M-sur-M. And it only gets more interesting from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stephaniesaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephaniesaurus/gifts).



 

Upon arriving in the modest coastal city of Montreuil-sur-Mer, the very first things Inspector Javert noticed were the eyes.

His experience in Paris introduced him to several spheres of society to be examined and monitored for whatever wickedness had infected them...but for all the wrongs he corrected, the eyes of those he examined and monitored were never as dilated and dreamy as for these men and women that strolled lazily from errand to chat to whathaveyou. Javert heard stories of ninnies running out of town in fugues or entering a trance state, and he noticed these tales were common among the odd passtimes of the well-to-do. But Javert knew well that, even if a phenomenon like that were real (which he suspected it was merely malingering to cover dishonesty), it would be highly individual and not pertaining to _the entire city._

Everywhere he looked, no matter how he trotted Gymont into the scene, and even if he presented himself as the fearsome watchdog as which he was so easily labeled, the people around him looked...drunk. They lacked the poor coordination of drunkenness, but a better comparison for this lack of energy - or perhaps mere laziness - completely and irritatingly failed him. If he had to describe this in a report to Paris, then that adjective would just have to make do. The children seemed normal, as children were judged, but their parents and neighbors were just as 'drunk' when interacting with them as with each other. Something that irregular could not be without a dangerous cause.

He decided to investigate this false-drunk town more thoroughly. One woman, dressed as a seamstress (although that could mean anything for what little he knew), turned at his address of her and gave an eerily beatific smile.

"Ah, our new Sieur l'Inspecteur? Good day and welcome to our fair city! We have heard of your arrival, and your reputation. But, I hope you can find contentment here, because I doubt we will need your assistance."

So. Many. Questions. And Javert was sure he would only get a few answered, with how 'removed' the woman seemed. Maybe 'removed' would be a good descriptor--oh, enough of that, Javert needed to just take in the scenes as he saw them and stay focused.

...Actually, this glimmer in her eyes, now that he saw it so closely, looked distantly familiar.

"You doubt you need the assistance of the police?"

"Indeed...I know that may be terrible news for your work, but we are peaceful here. Not a crime here in Montreuil! No petty theft, no extortion, no hunger, and not a single hint of aggression. Hmm...perhaps you could keep the children company and teach them of life outside our home?"

"..."

"Monsieur l'Inspecteur?"

"I need to see the mayor. I intended to meet with my company at first, but this cannot wait. Where is he at this time of day?'

"That's an excellent question, as he tends to roam the streets."

_...I heard this city was turned from slums to prosperity. I heard the people were honest and sated, protected from bad crops, given industry, blessed with a powerful leader, et cetera...and this leader ROAMS THE STREETS? That makes him sound like a trollop!_

"...Do you have a suggestion as to where he might be?"

"Not a one! And I must ask, why the rush...? Surely your journey has exhausted you. Perhaps you would like to relax?"

The harlot's eyes were just as dark, but nowhere near as dreamy. They were suddenly exuding a piercing energy that, while not incriminating per se, would be unnaturally persuasive to anyone interested.

_This woman is dressed as a common worker. But she is clearly a prostitute. Women of this status are clothed like this, and so cleanly? How...? Why...? Is this the_ norm _in this Montreuil?_

"...I am not one to entertain a harlot. I should--actually, what is your name?"

"Marguerite, Monsieur l'Inspecteur." Javert noted her lack of response to his accusation, particular how amused she still seemed. "And, if I remember, Monsieur Javert?"

"You have heard everything, then. When did you learn of my assignment here?"

"Oh, some time ago. But I must say, no description was given of your sad, endearing eyes...your finely kept coiffeur under that hat, yes, I can tell from here...your faded uniform, dirty from hard work. Monsieur, you seem a far cry from the objective agent of justice the Secretary to the Prefect described."

"Chabouillet was here. He saw all of this."

"I suppose he did!"

_By the heavens, what is this place?! Even someone as noble as Chabouillet made no mention of this weirdness. Perhaps...hmm. No matter. I was assigned to root out treason and chaos in this city, and I will do so! Yes, this will be a challenge to be faced boldly. I will question the mayor and then design appropriate reconaissance._

As Javert turned to leave, he heard: "Say hello to Fantine for me, would you? If you go to the docks, that is! She's a pretty one with long hair and fine teeth! AND TELL THE MAYOR THAT I MISS HIM SO!"

_The docks...somehow, I feel that is indeed where I need to go. The head of the beast._

The Inspector had Gymont trot toward the coastal end of the city, feeling slightly unnerved at the sultry gazes being passed back and forth and also toward him. Lifeless and yet full of life. No genius insight was needed to tell him that the indoor residents were constantly fornicating, what with this atmosphere to ingest. He was never more glad to be celibate, if whatever curse of sexual depravity at work were draining its victims of simple discipline. Sieur Madeleine really let all of this happen?

_...This couldn't be...no. Here? All the good news, next to something like that? But I would have heard of it before now...right? Oh, I dread the docks already._

On the way to the dreaded docks, Javert spotted a collapsed cart near an empty alleyway, with the horse sitting in front of it, completely unemployed. What more oddities could this city create for him?

"Who owned this cart? Anyone?! This is an obstruction, who can account for this?!"

And then, somewhere nearby, the sudden sound of smacking lips and tongues sent a shiver up his spine. Absolutely disgraceful, exposing themselves in broad daylight like that. Where was this depravity?

Javert moved to the rear end of the cart to spot an old man and an older woman, clearly the culprits of this lasciviousness. He unwittingly took in the sight and felt nauseated. It took a surprising amount of willpower to dismount and approach the couple with the pair of leather cuffs he always carried with him.

"Monsieur, Madame, you are under arrest for blatant public indecency."

The lovers parted, turned to look at him, and started howling with laughter.

"Oh, it figures!", spoke the woman through kiss-swollen lips. "Ah, you must be Inspector Javert, this is Victurnien at your service, and the darling in my grasp is Fauchelevent! But that will wait, you should head to the station. You see, the laws of France apply differently here, since about a year ago."

Javert felt as if his brain had been crushed under that very cart. No one had told him anything about this; he suspected the woman was lying, but...how could he respond to this? This was not just these two elders. Everyone in this city embraced this devil-may-care attitude as if it were the mantra of Paradise!

"What do you mean? Actually, forget I asked, I will learn later. What happened with this cart, monsieur, I assume it belongs to you?"

The man sighed, and the woman stroked his chest to comfort him. Javert suppressed a grimace.

"It was the most curious thing! I was riding down the street, minding my own business, when the mare just stops and takes a seat. Then the cart started to buckle, and I just barely got away from it before it crumbled. Shoddy woodwork, I see it plain now. I sent for assistance to clean it up, no worries. As for my horse, well, perhaps she was befuddled by some stallion across the way, but who could say? Actually...I suspect your mount is male, perhaps she smelled him and decided to wait!"

"Horses do not mate in that manner, Monsieur Fauchelevent." Javert had trouble knowing what to say, so he went for the obvious flaw in the man's thinking.

"I know, I know...but this town has a way on people, so why not animals? Stranger things have happened."

"I doubt it. I should...why are you so cheerful about your cart falling?"

Fauchelevent gave a winsome smile. Javert felt dizzy.

"Ah, well...grumpiness is difficult with this vixen on my tail half the day!" The elderly man squeezed Victurnien's side, making the woman giggle and playfully shove him away, both their faces contorted with unintelligible joy.

"...Where is the mayor?"

"Hm? I suppose down by the docks, but he wanders a bit. I would ask the Captain, and you should be seeing him anyway," answered Victurnien.

"Oh, if you go to see him, Monsieur l'Inspecteur, tell him we miss him so!"

"Dearly so, hehe! Although, monsieur is more fetching than I was led to believe!"

"...I must go."

Javert forced himself not to parse what they meant as he had to dig his heels into Gymont's sides to make the steed step away from the nickering mare. This was autumn. Horses mate in the spring. Why was this happening? And how much oil would it take to burn this city down if he had to do so? Oh, that would be terribly expensive...

Javert made one last stop at the station itself. He dismounted and warily opened the door.

"Hm? Ah, Inspector, we were wondering when you would get here! We would have met you at the city limits, but as you can see...you are free to join us, by any means, we can do introductions later."

Javert closed the door without a word. The scene within was best left undescribed.

_Just get to the docks, get the final word, and leave. This is a job for the National Guard. This is out of your hands. Just keep vigilant and do your job as best you can...Of all the careers for that demon to choose after breaking out of prison, rosary manufacturing would not have been my first guess, I have to admit._

Mounting Gymont for the third time that day, Javert stirred him into a gallop to meet with the ringleader once and for all. Enough with this stilted investigation: he knew exactly what was wrong from the second he saw those eyes. What else could it be? As a pier started to come into view, those horror-etched memories of half naked convicts and guards writhing in a pit of flesh and...this needed to end, or all of France would begin to rave in that same hellborn carnival.

That convict...Javert prayed that he was not too late.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Gymont was quickly tied-up with a slipknot, and Javert walked as quietly as he could upon the demon's lair. He recoiled at the sounds of moaning and flesh slapping against flesh, already meeting his ears before he could see the docks in full view. He crept closer. The sounds got louder. And then he saw it, that undeniable, wit-defying vision:

Jean Valjean, the sex-crazed demagogue of the prison that enchanted everyone but him, only by grace of transferring to Rochefort, was plunging his endowment into some young woman, in broad daylight, in front of a crowd of two or three dozen who themselves were enraptured in what could only be one of the Circles of Hell. Just like before, the writhing bodies were charmed by the man, and no brute force could make it stop. All Javert had against the rutting were words.

Javert drew a deep breath and stepped forward to confront his worst nightmare.

"Monsieur le Maire?", he started cautiously. "A word, if you would."

"Oh, no!"

Valjean slowed his thrusting enough to pick up the naked girl, with fetching hair and he supposed fine teeth, and turn both of them around for him to face the trembling Inspector. She was laid back upon the thick blanket beneath them. After this change, the mayor resumed his previous speed and ferocity, and Fantine resumed her...WHY WAS HE LETTING HIMSELF NOTICE THAT?!

"My face is red at this misstep! I am so sorry, monsieur, I forgot the time. My dear citizens are so needy! Inspector Javert, welcome to our Montreuil. Your betters spoke highly of you, and I expect us to keep a safe town together."

Javert was looking at the man's eyes for the very first time. He had taken the habit in Toulon of not making eye contact with any prisoner, in order to convey his distance from them all the more. But now and here, with this madness, he felt something in his stomach churn. Valjean's mere glance was distracting, laden with some hot energy that cloyed his innards. But his stomach settled after the shock and Javert found himself capable of a response at last.

"You do, indeed?" As responses went, he could have done better. But this was certainly better than merely standing there, in front of the event to be halted, no less.

"I have no doubts of it." The incubus paused to pull out completely and thrust to the hilt in one swift motion, and then repeating this feat. The crowd, previously amorous toward each other in ways that Javert had no words to describe, were watching both the mating pair and the newcomer with curiosity. "After all, no crime exists here, and our communal wealth could easily support your new lifestyle of love here. As for, ah, that very lifestyle...I suspect you will become accustomed to such sights in due time. Has the Captain informed you of this town's arrangement?"

"...He, um..."

"Ah, say no more." Valjean laid labor-worn hands upon the girl's breasts and masterfully stroked her nipples, making Javert uncomfortably aware of how the convict did the same for more than a few guards. "That fellow is worse than most of my workers! Always bending over for cocks, and--oh, I should say pricks, I keep confusing the farmers."

The crowd chuckled, those glazed eyes still dark with a lust that could not be fueled by mortal means. Javert swallowed and steeled himself with the last of his resolve.

"We may go over it later, but for now, believe that the Crown has ruled 'public indecency' to only apply to violence or littering. Would you like to join us, Inspector? A man of your features would find a partner easily!"

The crowd had already been appraising him during their own exploits, and even more flirtatious glances were being made at the mayor's suggestion.

"So nervous at the prospect, how adorable!", was one comment that Javert was too disheveled to ignore.

"Probably a virgin," was another that assaulted him in his unarmored state.

"...Jean Valjean, you are under arrest for more crimes that I can list at the moment. Step away from the whore and come with me quietly."

This will do sweet fuck all, and I know it. And if I try to coerce him, that would just...those eyes, those horrifyingly captivating eyes could not belong to a human. Would the Guard even be able to handle this?

"Watch that tongue, Inspector!", chastised the mayor with sudden condemnation. "This girl is a humble bead stringer in my factory. If you wish to address a prostitute, there are plenty standing behind me."

Four women (that Javert could see) with skewed hair waved to him with inviting eyes.

"...You did understand me, correct?"

"Oh, he certainly did!", answered Fantine, still prone. "Mnnngh...he told us everything, that horrible tale. Five years and eight months of cruelty upon...mm, upon our dear Valjean. He redeemed himself and, ah...! he shares his gifts with us in so many ways! He is tremendous, Inspector!"

"...So..." Javert felt his voice crack. "Everyone knows. You told them, and no one tried to stop you."

"...Javert..." The mayor slowed down and looked him straight in the eyes. Why were they so piercing and warm?! "I know you cling to your values, but those values are incomplete. Your Chabouillet told me you are still a virgin! I feel it is high time for you to welcome love-making in your life, and what better place to do so than here, your new home?" Too many thoughts demanded Javert's contemplation, and not a one would be able to receive it in these circumstances. "Come! I will bring this dear to her climaxes, and I shall comfort you next."

"No thank you." Javert was too choked by the rising panic within him to care that he was being polite for something like this.

The crowd suddenly blinked, almost at the same time, and murmured at the harsh change in atmosphere. Some lucidity was restored to their gazes, and their amorous actions languished remarkably. Maybe...maybe he could get through to them and get this man back in chains where no more harm could be done! But Valjean merely shrugged and continued fucking Fantine as if nothing had happened, even wrapping his arms around the harlot. That coat suited his form impeccably...

He looked to the afternoon sky to try and suppress his arousal, quickly making itself apparent. This was disgusting, and he was becoming erect from it!

"Dear fellow, shyness is a burden! Find a companion, wait for me."

"Ah, Jean, perhaps he could...he could join, ah...oh, Grace...!"

"Shhh...I am yours in this moment."

Javert stood statuesque as he helplessly watched the crowd return to their spellbound debauchery and the fugitive's consensual ravishing of the stranger. He had a method of attaining control he had just discovered, and he had forgotten it as he observed that man.

Valjean increased his pace, his face bizarrely serene for those lust-darkened eyes. Javert tried not to think on the fact he had gotten closer to see them.

Fantine grew silent.

Valjean lowered himself fully on the woman, fabric and skin pressing and sliding in the sweat between them. Fantine buried her face in his coat shoulder.

The crowd watched, and so did Javert. His eyes had fixated on the criminal's hips and shapely rump as they rebounded from the force of penetration.

_Why am I not trying to stop this? Why am I letting Toulon happen all over again?_

Javert felt for his cane on his side, adjusted himself, and decided it was best for his sanity to leave the scene and assess the situation. Valjean was preoccupied. He quietly walked back to where Gymont was tied...only to find the horse had managed to undo the hasty slip knot and left to...to that mare, that was it, of course. This magic was contagious after all. No mortal could conduct attention like this.

Javert was in over his head. He simply had to collect his horse, leave, and count this Montreuil as lost to the plague Valjean had spread. He would warn the officials of Paris to not allow travellers to this city, and that was the best he could manage. But that left the matter of Chabouillet, and--

_NO. NO. NEVER. STARS IN HEAVEN GIVE ME THE STRENGTH TO LIVE THROUGH THIS DAY._

But Javert doubted than even the stars in those heavens could guide him through this. Montreuil-sur-Mer had been sacked by a demon. Javert realized suddenly that no guarantee stood for whether or not Valjean would be content with this or would invade other arrondisements. What to do...

Only one option was viable. Javert had to keep Valjean contained in this town, as the only one who could resist him, for whatever reason, for the sake of the greater good. Javert would...stay...

In the hellmouth.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Javert heard the woman scream and started to trudge toward the scene. Valjean had no history of sexual violence, so he...actually, that proved nothing. He rushed to the fornicators in fear of the worst. Javert saw the the mayor and the crowd in full view again, and...good gracious, they were still engaged in it. How long did it take for sex to satisfy people in this hussy of a city? But it looked exactly the same as before: no blood, no resistance, and dozens of witnesses.

Perhaps this method of coupling was actually better. With so many observing it, Javert could easily present a case--

_Jean Valjean is eating my brain._

Javert was not a man to shed tears, but he stifled a sob of frustration as he walked toward the false mayor again.

"When will you be done?" _Keep the man here. Engage him. Nothing else can be done._  


Valjean looked up from his woman and gave a wry smile, eyes still depraved. This man made expressions that would have mystified the most studied of actors. He held up four fingers. Javert rolled his eyes. But waiting was better than letting this influence spread. He sat down on the docks and looked away for four minutes. He ignored sounds for four minutes. He felt his prick grow fat with blood for four minutes. He thought about his life up until this point for four minutes.

Javert had not led a happy life, but it was his, and he won it through every scrap of effort and nerve he had. The police welcomed him when no other avenue was available to him. He became blissfully proud to serve the crown, even if that meant entertaining incubii. This would be a worthwhile assignment. As for Chabou--

_Just disregard it. The devils all probably lied about this and divined his arrival through some otherworldly means. Ridiculous, but then so is all this._

Finally, they were done. Fantine was sated, and Valjean was...not. Hardly surprising, but the man seemed irritated for a short time, until the two of them met eyes and that glib cheerfulness shimmered in the darkened eyes again, that eye-drawing cock still throbbing and bobbing freely from the finely made trousers. Javert was targeted.

"Now...you have been patient. My dear guard, my dear police spy, you have kept away from me somehow. You wound me." Valjean walked over to him, and Javert felt his pulse quicken. "But we shall heal each other. I know you are scared, but this will change your life for so much better."

"You did not finish," Javert blurted. He noticed that Valjean had not tried to touch him, at least not yet. Fantine had walked up to one of the streetwalkers and engaged her, still under the influence after satisfaction.

"...No," admitted Valjean. "You suspect I am not human, yes? I suspect you are correct."

Javert felt his chest flutter at the victory, but this hardly changed the situation. Logic and reasoning were subject to the whims of aberrations when this character was nearby.

Valjean continued: "When I succumbed to a life of love, it was in a kind of 'awakening'. In an instant, I was infinitely amorous and insatiable, and...well, you saw the effects I had, and still do. Everyone I have met, save for you, bends wholly to my desires, and they begin to dance to my rhythm. I could never explain it, except to say...I am a god."

"..."

A god. A demon. A threat to the State. This 'man' could call himself whatever he wanted; it was all the same. The crowd was watching the two of them as they debased themselves and each other.

"But this godlike power is a curse as well. I am never satisfied from this, not truly. I have no climax, and...I love to pleasure others, but it always feels the same. Always near it, but never reaching it...Javert, it hurts. I need sex, or this lack of release will force me to act in ways I dare not contemplate. And I use this lifestyle of love for good. Look around you..."

Javert did a quick once-over to humor Valjean. His eyes settled afterward on the steep curves of the man's neck...every muscle and sinew, working to swallow as the mayor consumed his own spit. He refocused his gaze slightly above the man's eyes.

"Not a single violent urge in my citizens. They are amorous and regularly sated. Conflict is a thing of the past! They drink in my influence, and they adore me in return. Is this not a happy ending? Javert?"

"You make it sound romantic. This is a city of depravity."

"This is a city without crime," Valjean declared pointedly. "Or if you still believe this is a punishable offense, then take a moment to consider that this sexuality is the single unifier for this whole town. Everyone makes love, and the rest comes together."

"That makes no sense."

"Yet look around you."

Javert had no need to do so. The fact did stand: all of these men and women of loose morals were committed to their deeds and did not turn to any other crime amid the chaos. Then again, they did not turn to any other deed at all. They were insatiable, like him. They were...

Javert remembered the older couple. They had some restraint, yes, like the odd pair of guards in the Bagne of Toulon. Those guards kept their distance, paying attention only to each other. These people, they were too close to him. Too close, close enough to palm that proud chest and feel the raw power resting just behind the frame...

"Javert?"

Valjean reached toward him. Javert felt his mind return and stood up to create distance.

"Do not touch me."

Valjean...obeyed. Wide-eyed, startled, even a little wounded, the man obeyed him.

"What?!" The demon's eyes grew desperate and uncomfortably pressing. "Are you really that opposed to me? Javert, this is starting to hurt...I need you. Please!"

"No."

The crowd started to slow down again. So this was it. Refusal...that weakened the curse. Javert's own arousal was receding as well. But Jean Valjean was not weakened. In fact, he looked angry.

"...What are you doing?! I feel even worse! I need you right now, just submit to me and make this easier--"

"No. I said no. You will not do anything of the sort."

Lovers in the crowd started to part and look upon themselves in surprise.

"JAVERT!", Valjean tried to command, pulling a disoriented man to him and trying to coax him. "NOW!"

"CEASE THIS AT ONCE." Javert knew what to do now; his mind was at last clear. "ALL OF YOU! STOP THIS MADNESS AND GO HOME. You are not at fault, this is his doing. I will not press charges. Go home and be sensible, immediately!"

The crowd, dazed though its members were, began to disperse and obey. The man Valjean had taken, however, quickly was charmed again. The two were groping each other, while the god still stared at him in apparent disbelief.

"You...Javert, you are not human."

Javert started to laugh. Being insulted by a man who was accosting another's body was plainly odd.

"Not every person is sexualized by you, clearly. That makes me inhuman?"

"You broke my influence," answered Valjean in clear disgust. "No one can do that. Even your superior was charmed by me, and that man was a block of wood compared to you. You are a god as well, nothing else could explain it. A god that stops love."

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Javert had no response, in thought or gesture or word. So Chabouillet was here after all, and he was charmed. The effects must have lingered, else the noble man would have spoken of this demon's lair. Javert's superior was a victim in all this. It made sense now, his mind was his own again. As for 'a god that stopped love'...

Well. Like he said before, who cared what these phenomena were called? A solution was a solution.

"Jean Valjean, you will stop this at once. You are under arrest for evading your prison sentence and for mass conspiracy involving depravity. As the sole officer of the State that can control you, I must take it upon myself to sentence you and save the judiciaries the risk of enchantment." He only said this because this was all very new and still not fully understood. "You are to be executed, for the common good."

The man in Valjean's arms wilted as Javert spoke. Eventually, he parted from the god and awkwardly stepped away from the scene, looking back at the two of them with pained eyes. It was an odd expression, thought Javert...unlike the others, it seemed plaintive. But no matter. Valjean was culled, no matter how fierce he looked in this moment.

"You have ruined this city. Crime will return, and it will be on your head."

"I will administer to any crime, as I was assigned to do. Funny, really, how that works!"

Valjean glowered.

"I am your employer. Your station here relies on my approval."

"Your life relies on my discretion, Monsieur le Dieu! I will not change my mind, but it would be wise not to test me."

"...I say the same to you."

The gauntlet was thrown, and Javert was ready.

"You will not resist arrest."

"Just watch me."

_???_

Jean Valjean suddenly charged forward and yanked Javert's right arm away from his body, twisting it behind his back, and doing the same with the left. Normally, Valjean would have won, as Javert recognized. But that contact killed the relative simplicity of the situation.

Valjean's hands upon him stirred a peculiar sensation in him. He could only compare it to two conflicting emotional bonds in expression: a terrified lost dog that had found his protective master, and a fitfully searching boy that found his beloved pup. These bonds collided together and released a powerful warmth that gravitated toward the hands that touched him, and further to the arms, the torso, the head...all of the strange man which was named Jean Valjean. All of Javert's attention was suddenly, strictly devoted to the entire being of the man, the source of the frighteningly inviting warmth. And it seemed Valjean was compelled to reciprocate. No. Valjean was, in complete fact, reciprocating.

Neither one of them were the boy or the dog. They were also both of them.

Harsh, wild fear took control of Javert's limbs and forced him to escape the bond, which had been weakened as Valjean was stunned by the same phenomenon which rattled him. Javert stumbled away from him. He found that speech had failed him and so tried to empty his mind. This was a dream. This was the chaos only born of dreaming.

"That...", Valjean finally spoke, but weakly. "By the saints. I remember now. It was you."

Javert did not answer. But he knew what the man meant very well, somehow, in some way.

"In Toulon...I awakened when you came to the prison. I saw you walk by my cell. Your eyes cloyed me, your bright blue eyes. A-And I recognized you, in that instant. But you were scared. You kept away, and I just assumed I was becoming a demon. I-I wanted sex constantly, in revolting quantities, just to keep myself sane without your touch or even your gaze. But I was a god after all...reaching out for another. It was you all this time. Javert. I missed you. Javert... _Javert_..."

Javert heard the tone shifts in the man's voice. Each time Jean said his name, it was more reverent, filled with a deeper plea. The tones all tore at him, the pain clear and unbearable. But the knowledge that this man could do that to him now was even worse.

"Javert...I said I need you before. I had no idea how much. You...you have part of me with you." Valjean's voice broke. Javert flinched. "You are part of me...the half of my heart I thought prison had destroyed." Tears began to flow from his beautiful, brown eyes, and Javert felt like a monster for making him shed them. " _Javert, mon âme soeur, mon époux, I missed you for so long._ "

The same primal fear mercilessly clawed at Javert, forcing him to sprint away from the scene.

"J-Javert!"

His mind had been altered, expanded in that moment, but as he ran away, it was clear the change was permanent. He could feel the air wrapping around Jean as the terrible, wonderful god pursued him. The sun shed its mild heat to both of them equally, and yet his skin felt colder as he increased their distance, while Jean's own would be getting hotter. And he knew this! He knew it was because he ran away from this other half of the universe that both of them felt the ways they did! But he could no longer bear it; he had to escape this, for some dark reason. That arcane touch forced it to lurch toward the surface, but the touch was too brief, and whatever had poisoned him fell back into the depths of his now-halved soul.

Today was programmed to ruin him.

He kept looking forward and perfectly still, as if his head were held in place by phantasmal hands while he ran to the south of the city. He barely noticed that his hat had flown off him.

"Please, just listen to me! Listen to my voice! You know we... we were never meant to live apart! Come back to me, I will--I will cleanse you of whatever poisoned you!"

The same words I chose. He knows them, he would know them. But he still sounds so bestial to my ears! Why does this horrible thrill reach so deeply within me?

The cityfolk were gaping at the sight both of them made, the mayor in a proverbial wild goose chase of his new inspector on the first day. Javert was, at the very least, glad this showdown did not take place in Paris, or the damage to his reputation and work would be nigh irreparable.

_...He is a threat to the State. That must be it. I am a victim of his misplaced affection, and I must evade that touch of his, lest I succumb to this wickedness as well..._

Javert finally stopped and turned to face his dear pursuer, his vile husband. He knew it was unwise to take in the sight of this perfection, with his eyes eagerly making imprints of the bulk and curves and demeanor and energy of Jean Valjean once again, but this was the only way. He was not the spry runner he used to be, and though Valjean suffered from a limp - _what a monster I am, injuring him like that, he deserves better_ **it makes no difference, collar him now** \- the chase was bound to end the same day it started.

"Javert, I...you, you turned inward! Yes, and I turned outward, in my grief. I searched for you with my body, and you withdrew into your mind to hide from me. You thought I would hurt you, but something else is doing that, I felt it! Just give me a chance, mon cher...!"

"No."

"...Please..."

Montreuil-sur-Mer, for a brief span of time, was completely silent.

"I came to this city to enforce the Code. I will do so, and in doing so, I will protect its citizens from evil. No fear will be had from strangers, or from its own criminals, or even you, demon-thief. I will put an end to your debauchery, and order will resume. I promise you all of this on my honor as an officer of the law."

The men and sparse women around the corner began to murmur and whisper. Javert spoke from a deeply embedded speech in his mind, easily restructured and announced for anyone who would listen. Even this man-nymph could not rob him of this ideal.

"...Do as you wish. I will find a way to cope. But we are bonded beyond flesh. I need you, and you need me more than you think. If I could just--"

"Enough. Go to your factory, or to the council, or what else needs to be done. I will imprison you here, to contain your influence." Javert felt a pang of dissonance within his mind, separate from his torn soul, but he could not bring himself to drag the man back to the same prison that caused so much harm. "You will remain as the mayor, by...by what little mercy I have. But understand me completely in this: you will never touch me again."

Jean Valjean looked absolutely broken, and that would have broken Javert if he chose not to turn toward the doctors and salesmen behind him. They were standing awkwardly close to each other, undoubtedly just having the miasma of lust lifted from their brains.

"...You are just as unkind as before, mon cher."

Javert had to laugh at this, for too many reasons, only one of them being pleasant. His rubbed his gloved hands together to keep them warm, recognizing that he did not have to do so before.

"An officer of the law, unkind?! Preposterous!"

He finally turned to abandon the scene. Gymont was collected, and the undoubtedly impregnated mare was stabled. He picked up his hat: dirty and little more battered than usual, but still good. The police station was brought back into order, and introductions were made. Javert learned the name and location of where he was accommodated. Gymont was stabled, far away from his false companion. Javert went home, spying Fantine on the way.

"Marguerite says hello."

 


	5. Chapter 5

Of the varied reactions to the arrival and subsequent overhaul by Inspector Javert, the greatest surprise among them was that reactions were indeed varied. Mentality and individuality was restored to them by his mere utterance of "No" or "Enough" or whatever negative he imagined at the time. Obeying him felt natural and simple, as if it truly was the time to stop making/pursuing love and start acting sensibly again. As December started, the long-running gossip and discussion of the events surrounding this had reached a conclusion, founded on many different points.

A surprising note in this discussion was the way the god-mayor appeared to the witnesses of the chase. Serenity and seductive charm had abandoned him in that moment, replaced with the desperation and wounded affection of a rejected spouse. He even spoke of the inspector as 'bonded beyond flesh', when he never said or expressed anything like this to anyone before! Only one explanation held sway over most of the discussion: Javert was a god in and of himself, a counterpart to their beloved savior and entertainer. But this had unclear implications in the long term, especially since Javert kept his distance from the man. This sudden affection also faded over the next few days as the same contagious lust asserted itself again, leaving no hint of any return.

For the rest of October and partway into November, two 'campaigns' seemed to compete for control of the city. The dear mayor would spread desire and affection wherever he went, and the inspector would follow after him - or try to intercept him - to remove the unearthly fever. Likewise, any promiscuity that the dear inspector halted had a good chance of being restored by the mayor soon afterward.

The townsfolk wondered if Javert would try to reassert the true laws of France and arrest him for the love he spread - they would never allow this, if that were the case! - but nothing of the sort occurred. The most that the lonely-eyed man did was verbally meeken Valjean and usher him back home, seeming too pained or conflicted to do much else. Montreuil was ready if this unsteady policy were to change in this confusing time.

However, as some of the minority opinion holders were quick to mention, their dear inspector had become so for a very good reason.

At the end of the 'warring campaigns' for lack of a better descriptor, Marguerite was hunting for the mayor and found him toward the city limits. She had been chastised by the inspector, and the cold rebuke of his discipline left her empty, as was curiously common for the citizens he directly confronted. She decided to seek out the familiar comfort of the greatest citizen of Montreuil as recompense. He was chatting with a homely man, supposedly a visitor. She was not used to thinking of anyone as unattractive around the mayor's charm, but her disinterest was undeniable. No one else was around. She crept closer to listen.

"...move here permanently. It makes sense, with how much you wished to see me and all."

"We would, Monsieur le Maire, but...", stalled the stranger. "Our home is our home, no matter how charming you are. We are contented in Montfermeil."

Valjean sighed and kissed the man firmly on the lips. Marguerite later admitted to feeling uncomfortable at this in hindsight, and her reason was sound.

"Please consider it carefully. Your wife and children would enjoy many friends here, well, in due time for the latter!"

"You are gracious, but our business is simple. We tire of the lark, and her mother is no longer desperate, so we are returning her. I sent her along, as I wanted to stop to rest for a while."

"I understand..." Another kiss, and a pat of the man's behind...but not before looking around the streets, undoubtedly searching for the inspector. His eyes were not fearful, but rather expectant. "Would you like to...?"

"Monsieur, you are insatiable. But I need to focus, or I will fail to meet up with them."

"I can be quick." He pulled them together.

"...Oh, very well." Marguerite looked for the inspector herself as the two walked to an alley and started making noises unique to male-to-male penetration. The man was nowhere to be found. She was unsure why she was looking for him, but she knew his presence, for whatever reason, would be good at that point in time.

A few minutes later, the two emerged from the alley, the visitor with some trouble walking.

"Monsieur Thenardier, I leave you to your business."

"And I to you!"

Valjean left, and Marguerite realized she was visible to the man. His eyes had the same glassy darkness that had become common to the populace. She was targeted.

"Well, I thought someone was spying on me! A pretty someone, too. Come to think of it...I have more time than I thought. I would like to get a good moan out of you, hussy!"

A harsh, primal fear rippled through Marguerite. The voice of this Thenardier was not warm or affectionate as with Valjean anymore, now merely coated in lust. She recognized the heat of arousal welling within her, now plainly unwelcome, but her mind was not lost to it. This man did not appeal to her (no, this heat was something like the base memory of truly desirable men, cued by his prowling stance), and she knew he did not care whether she was interested or not.

"I...I will do no such thing. Get away from me."

"Oh? You refuse me in words, but you are eager all the same! I love this game. Please, say it again!"

Marguerite commanded her legs to move, but they were struggling to obey her. She managed to step away from him, but the sight of a man accosting her was entirely new. She thought she was prepared, that life had taught her enough wit to resist, but her mind betrayed her after all.

She quickly and bizarrely thought of the mayor...but it was no non-sequitur. Yes, her time with him had made her suggestible. Why else would she have not gone after the mayor once he left? She finally managed to turn around and start walking away, hoping to build momentum against her trembling mind to run in earnest. But the man kept speaking.

"A chase is good. I need a run after that romp, and your blood needs to get pumping."

"Step away or I will--"

"Ah! Threats, even better! More, my pretty thing, make a show of it!"

"JUST STOP IT. STOP IT--INSPECTOR!"

Marguerite did not see him, but she felt some corner of her mind compel her to shout his name. It was the right name to call. But it seemed too late for his intervention...

She was nevertheless bolstered, and she started to run. Loud footsteps told her Thenardier was in pursuit. Never mind that god-inspector; she had to make distance and mislead the man into an alley so she could get help or surprise attack or hide or something. Thankfully, she made better strides than the sodomized man, but she was not a practiced runner and would tire quickly when adrenaline could no longer push her forward. Every meter she gained was absolutely critical!

She made a sharp corner. Thenardier did the same.

She spotted footprints in the unpaved portion of the road and circled around the building she encountered, hoping he would follow them and the rebounded noise in that direction. He was not fooled, and even ran the opposite circle to meet up with her. Animal instinct commanded her to charge against him, just barely missing his grasp and regaining her sprint to resume the chase. She cried out to whoever might have been in earshot, but she still heard the man behind her, and she still had to run.

Marguerite fled Thenardier across a good fifth of the city, weaving through the mazelike features (which unfortunately made the few witnesses notice the chase too late and struggle to catch up with both of them), before her legs started to show their lack of training in strenuous employment. Her pace slowed, and the man caught up with her and enshared her in a malevolent embrace, one hand forcing her head to point toward the ground. Marguerite shrieked as a desperate last resort to get help.

"Capital!", breathed the pervert between pants. "Nice and tired, eh? Perfect for the back door. _You'll be thanking me for this, I_ \--"

*THWACK*

A large, wooden cane landed deliberately and viciously upon the skull of M. Thenardier. The rapist-hopeful fell backwards and unconscious to the pavement. Marguerite felt his arms go slack and looked up to the stonefaced Inspector Javert, still holding the cane in mid-air. His horse stood untied and slightly meandering, clearly carrying his rider in a hurry. He withdrew it and addressed her in a calm and collected tone.

"My apologies. I was on the other side of the city, or I would have stopped him sooner. I only saw the chase. Are you hurt?"

Marguerite walked up to Javert and embraced him, burying her face in his shoulder and letting her body tremble from the trauma she endured. Tears of shattered security and delirious relief flowed unapologetically from her eyes. She was safe.

"...I know you are distressed, but I must insist: did he hurt you?"

Marguerite shook her head, making the charcoal grey coat shift back and forth beneath her face. She noted to listeners of her story that he felt particularly chilly, for some reason. After a few minutes to let the shock take its toll and fade, she mustered the will to ask a burning question:

"How...how did you know he was after me? You were so far away!"

Javert looked surprised at the question, quickly turning pensive.

"I could not say for sure. I...I felt something was terribly wrong, and I could not dismiss the emotion. Then I decided to follow my instinct and come here as fast as I could. And then I saw you and _this cretin_."

"...You are a god. Like the mayor said."

Javert rolled his eyes.

"I am a peacekeeper."

"You knew I needed help from so far away. You are blessed, monsieur, you are a blessing...!" She strengthened her embrace and laughed from nerves, eventually stepping away from him to see his grimace of confusion and discomfort.

"I hope that will not become a habit."

Marguerite laughed genuinely.

"I promise you are safe from my affection, monsieur."

But the discussion of the two gods had to include the event at the police station some time later, where Javert dragged the horrible man to be processed for punishment. He laid, still unconscious, in a holding cell.

"WHAT HAPPENED?!"

Marguerite turned from the Captain's worried countenance to see the mayor and dear Fantine, accompanied by an odd-looking woman and three children. She intuited the identity of the blonde child at once: the resemblance in the hair was striking. They all looked bewildered, but no one was hurt by any fellow attackers, thank the heavens!

Javert turned from her to answer Valjean's panicked question.

"I will tell you! You left this man alone in his influenced state to assault this honest woman. I was fortunate to intervene when I did, or something terrible might have happened."

Marguerite flinched at the implication. The mayor, meanwhile, stood frozen while blood drained from his face. Fantine looked absolutely aghast and rushed to embrace her, the sweet thing. The woman and her two children looked...surprised, but not particularly upset. Was this normal for that man?

"Assault...from my influence?"

Javert nodded humorlessly. The others in the station tried to ignore the electric charge that was added to the atmosphere, trying and failing to pull the two characters together, in order to learn of whatever the mayor decided to do.

"Are you certain?"

"His eyes were clouded just like the rest."

"...W-Well, that could mean..."

The station held a highly uncomfortable silence. The mayor, clearly debating with himself, finally pulled a revolted face.

"I...I had _affection_ for that man!"

Javert pulled a revolted face of his own and responded: "Of _course_ you did. You _would_ , not even bothering to ask questions!"

"I had no idea he would do anything like this, I swear."

"Actually, I believe you," answered Javert. "You have rarely experienced anyone refusing--"

The Captain loudly cleared his throat. Javert bristled at the interruption, but he recognized the children in the station and decided to abridge his statement. How this city managed to keep them innocent before he came here was a mystery wrapped upon itself. Fantine parted from Marguerite and went back to attend her...Euphrasie, she believed the name was.

"The point to be made is clear. You can not randomly influence citizens or visitors and leave them to their business. Some are unbalanced in...that state, and that man in the cell is proof of this. I suspect he has attacked others in that state as well; we will begin investigations tomorrow. I recommend we close off this city from visitors, as well as keep her citizens from leaving. Doing otherwise is too dangerous."

"No."

The entire station watched Javert's face twist into a sneer of unrelentant contempt.

"Too soft-hearted? Too drunk on your depraved society? Why, Valjean, why not protect the citizens?"

"Because that will not be necessary. You and I will protect them. Together."

"..."

Despite the individualites of each person in the station, every one of them (who knew of the ways of adults) recognized the wisdom of this proposal. Jean Valjean brought the people together largely in peace, with only this one outlier posing trouble. He was a saint with a decidedly unorthodox method of spreading the salvation of love, yet it worked. Javert reinforced the minds and wills of people that would become drunk on Valjean's method. He was a saint with a peculiar way of protecting citizens from each other, and with undeniable devotion. They were perfectly suited to maintain a balance in any society that housed them. But only if they worked together.

The mayor had wisdom that the inspector should accept. And to an extent, the discussion admitted, he did.

"Very well. I have trouble imagining how to arrange a partnership, but we shall no longer compete for control. For the greater good, I will cooperate with...with a criminal."

"Compete...?"

"...Never mind."

Valjean stepped forward and, in violation of the decree Javert had placed, pressed a hand on the inspector's shoulder. Javert recoiled at the contact.

"I am so sorry...but I had to remember. Both of us, we forget it so easily; it's bonded to our touch. This will...this will aid cooperation."

"...As long as you keep your distance, then I suppose you have a point."

And thus the god-men arranged a pact.

Thenardier's case was debated. Between the mayor and the inspector and the rest of the police, they all decided he was to be held in the cell until they could rule out any supernatural influence for the violent urge. His family was compensated for the unprecedented exercise, specifically allowed to stay in the city with him until a decision was reached. Javert commented that he counted this as discretion in unusual circumstances, as he did with Jean Valjean all the while.

Patrols by the two men were arranged, with both of them a certain distance apart. This was to avoid the aggravating discomfort that came from their proximity, but they were arranged so that both of them could see and interact with the citizens and visitors at the same time. If Valjean incited someone to act impulsively, Javert would subdue them. If Javert had isolated someone into depression, Valjean would comfort them. The inspector's intuition and the mayor's charm worked splendidly to keep the peace consistently for the city. Even though this forced the scenes they oversaw to be irritatingly awkward, it was better than witnessing the conflict of the two men that could never comfort each other.

The various phases of the discussion that followed this pact were anxious of any misgivings on the part of either partner, mostly biased against the newish inspector. An uncomfortable point of interest was the obvious attraction between them: the mayor would appeal to the inspector, who would shakily push him from any opportunity to even platonically express affection. But the conclusion was as pure as the snow that began to build on the paved and unpaved streets alike:

Javert and Jean Valjean were a pair. For all their differences, they were meant to be together, and something had to be done about the conflict between them.


	6. Chapter 6

Jean Valjean was guiding Sister Simplice through climax after climax, but just as with the others, it felt the same. His mind wandered. Heat smothered his skin. He looked beyond the windows of the hospital and wished that his soul mate were in sight...

A rotting branch on the nearby tree reminded him of Faverolles, and he reeled at how peculiar the memory was now. A grouchy twentysomething that willingly floated in the sea of idiocy that accompanied rural youth, silently indignant at being burdened with his sister's children, bemoaning his lot as a peasant and trying to make the days pass until they were grown and his life could truly begin...that same fool was subject to the laws of mortal, fallible men. And work had become, at least as far as he perceived it, impossible to find.

In a fit of mindless desperation, he let the faces of his starving family consume him and made a petty theft of bread. The State, as witness to this theft, called him a traitor and a threat to the greater good, and she locked him miles away in a prison for the worst offenders and the most unfortunate. He lost his name. His family was out of sight and fading from his memory...only to occasionally resurface and torment him in his filthy cell and skin-choking shackles. His body was stolen, beaten, degraded, and forced to become hardened with brawn that would be thanklessly employed for building, mostly tools of war (not only that, but wars that ended in failure). And all this for one moment of weakness in trying to provide sustenance for small children and an overburdened sister.

He did not invite this consequence upon himself, nor did he deserve it. Chastisement and guidance was appropriate, yet the victims of his idiocy were content to do away with him rather than thoroughly ensure no repeat of the event. They gave no thought to his state of being, merely to their own perceptions of safety in the poor Theory of Mind that France had created. To put it crudely, Jean Valjean was raped for merely making himself more vulnerable than most of his social stratum, in a manner that would have easily been fixed with, for example, some labor to replace the cost of the broken window and the pilfered bread.

And then, to put a greater offence upon him, his soul was stolen in one moment. With the last bastion of humanity and mortal concern gone from him, his inhibitions, as he understood it at the time, were untethered and magnified. Sex in his mind transformed from a distant dream to a necessary entitlement, and his power had awakened to take it. He enticed all but one of the men in that institution, making them scream for his touch and thrust and titillation, yet none of it could satiate him or keep him calm for more than a short while. The guards had called him and others a demon, but only he seemed to earn the title. That same demon used his dark powers to escape the prison and take new partners in a disorganized prowl.

In a way, it made some sense. His ridiculous strength obtained from a diet that could not support such muscle growth; his literally unparalleled marksmanship; his quickly-attained mastery of scaling walls; his ability to grab others' attention and lean them to his way of thinking, when not consumed with panic; his creative insight and resourcefulness for planning escapes that had never manifested before; why not add sexual magic to the list and make it a genuine supernature? If Jean Valjean were a demon, then he might as well be a demon that was clear to see and understand.

But at the same time, if the peasant of Picardy were to see these phenomena, he would claim it was absolutely impossible and dismiss it as a story to distract him from work. Ever since he disarmed that one guard that evaded him, thoughts like that became so distant as to almost be forgotten. Nothing but warmth and a dearly-sought feeling of wholesomeness. He understood his ravings now: an abuse-crippled soul tried stupidly to find its remaining piece, and sex seemed to be the most effective option. The magnetism of rutting brought so many together: surely his husband was in that writhing mass somewhere!

Those two brushes of fabric and skin...pure bliss. Inhuman bliss. Not even his meetings with the sage Myriel brought him such peace. He hoped with all his heart that his influence had not led his savior into danger.

The sister finally became sated, and her relaxing body distracted his reflection.

"Monsieur le Maire...you are ponderous."

Jean hurriedly pulled himself off of her, when:

"No, I mean for your thoughts. What troubles you?"

Valjean sighed. He had done so much here, and these people had done so much for him. Kept him relatively sane. Gave him a place to call home. Cradled the flame of hope that the bishop had kindled so carefully. She deserved an explanation.

"I miss him."

The sister shook her head good-naturedly and arranged herself to decency.

"You are he are beyond this realm. We can all see it: two halves of a whole. He only avoids you because he is even further from peace than you."

Jean was instantly gripped with grief. He felt that deep well of despair within the lonely man. So much pain...and so young...the emotionally stunted man had no choice but to be so, with being compelled to draw inward, and therefore into the void that would one day threaten to eat him alive...!

"Monsieur! I have never seen you so upset!"

Valjean blinked through tears and tried to breathe deeply. This was going to ruin him. He croaked his next words, though he spoke as clearly as he could:

"Javert is suffering, and I cannot help him. He pushes me away, and I know why, I could feel it. What can I do?! This world...this world broke him. It almost broke me, but I was a man. _He was a child, a mere babe, I could almost hear him wailing!_ I thought he was cruel in Toulon to protect a tiny...undeserved existence, but I had no idea how small it had become. Even his superior - I understand he was the one good supporter Javert had - even he could not convey the depth of horror I felt within him."

Sister Simplice listened quietly, swallowing every single word.

"He became so noble from it all. He is a god...he has to be; I could not withstand that much sorrow. He is grand, to have come so far and to devote himself to honest people, even if he is misguided. Javert is beauty...a gift of faith and perseverance to this world. And I miss him, I pine for him to save me as I would save him. _I need him_..."

Valjean supposed his dramatic babbling would cow the poor woman into a nonplussed silence. But she merely nodded.

"He needs you as well. We can all see it, and we are stifled by this tension."

Jean had to blink and reassert the image of Simplice before him. She had taken his idea of her and shredded it, replacing it with a new idea that had more detail and felt as real as the cloth on his sweat-drenched skin.

"What could I do? My attention frightens him to the core!"

Sister Simplice twisted her lips in a contemplative quirk. It looked peculiar on her, but the sight was actually somewhat amusing. Dear Lord, what he would give for amusement in this distress.

"...We have been discussing what to do. Your confession gives me confidence in one of the ideas we proposed."

Jean Valjean stood rooted to the floor of the hospital. He knew his eyes were wide and that he looked pathetic, but he needed to hear what she had to say.

"There is a plan?!"

She smiled. Never before had a woman's smile inspired such awe in him.

"There is. He will not enjoy it, but needs must as the devil drives. And it would provide the quickest solution."

 


	7. Chapter 7

Inspector Javert welcomed the slowing activity of the first winter month with a rare contentment. The past two months had drained him. To face such a horror and live to still enforce the status quo (of this particular carnival...) was a dream he never thought he could achieve. He thought he should be proud, but he felt tired instead. His new employment stretched him thin. And he was absolutely, nigh intolerably freezing.

Still! He had successfully contained the magic that rested in this city and protected greater France. He had done well. Now he simply had to maintain this containment, and he knew the steps to this dance backwards and forwards. Keeping his demon-husband out of range became easier as he drew inward...except for today.

Today, Jean Valjean was nowhere to be found.

Worry was an emotion Javert was glad to avoid, usually. But it nagged him at the first sign that the god might be missing. Other citizens were curious as well, asking around for him, which made his worry intensify. What had happened? Was he hurt? As much as it vexed him, the thought of Jean in danger flooded him with panic and rage. But that horrible dread that he felt in times of crisis was absent...

Javert searched the city. No sign.

He searched a second time. No clue.

He kept vigil at the mairie, finding no option but to wait and having no indication that he had been...something. Kidnapped was ridiculous: he could charm his way out of that. Arrested was ridiculous for the same reason. The man was just missing.

When he started to feel hollow at the idea of him disappearing from the earth, old Fauchelevent came up to him in a panic. His mare was still good to ride, although she had gained weight. Gymont rode over to her as she slowed to a stop, but Javert quelled him before this turned into a zoo.

"Inspector, something bizarre is happening in the prison!"

The prison...?

Since arriving in the city, Javert had no need to imprison anyone. The prison had actually been empty for four months, largely due to the mayor's influence. No officers even watched over it anymore. The building stood eerily lifeless ever since. Javert had not thought of it, and he certainly did not think of looking there for his other half...

"What, what?!"

"I-I don't know, just come with me!"

Javert meant to question more, but the man rode off, forcing him to pursue until they arrived at the building in question. It looked just fine.

"This looks just fine."

"I-Inside is where it's happening."

Javert quirked his lips.

"What are you plotting?"

"Inspector, you must believe me--"

Fauchelevent was interrupted by a hoarse, panicked scream. Javert recognized the voice.

" _You should have alerted me sooner._ " Javert dismounted and rushed inside. Why did his intuition wait until  _now_ to alert him?!

"I came as soon as I could, I swear...!"

He had no time to evaluate the situation. His blood had quickened at the sound of Valjean undoubtedly in harm's way, and he needed to act quickly. Why had he not sensed this trouble like before? What was happening?! He went to the front desk, unlocked the lowest drawer, grabbed the ring of cell keys, and began to make the circuit inside the prison.

Javert ran to the end of the cell block, finding all of them empty and void of activity. Jean had to be in one of the isolation chambers.

"VALJEAN!"

"...'m here...! Help...!"

The voice came from the left. Chamber number four.

Javert ran up to the chamber, unlocked it, and there sat the mayor, tied up and coated in crimson. Too many things rang false about it: no one was visibly holding him hostage, the bonds were weak enough to break, and the fluid was too bright to be real blood. But the irrational thought of such a thing happening to Valjean compelled him to run inside and start undoing the knots.

The chamber door shut and locked behind him. The door could only be opened from the outside.

Of course. He was in such a rush that he forgot to check the corners of the prison for conspirators. It seemed the culprits were citizens, else he would have sensed actual trouble.

"...What dirty trick have you pulled this time?", he asked Valjean. "Playing on these emotions; I am shamed to claim them as mine!"

The mayor did not smile. Javert already felt that horrible warmth coat his stomach again, and the prickling fear followed. All his restraint was spent in not desperately banging on the door to be let out.

To be let out of a prison cell...

No.

No.

NO.

"...What are you doing?!"

Valjean quickly undid his own bonds and stood. His eyes were not devious or seductive. They were...they were horribly sad, pleading, even apologetic.

"You left me no choice...I hate to do this, but I must keep you by my side. Even if it means something like this."

NO.

"A prison cell?! You want us to be condemned in here?! No, you could not mean that, yet you say it like that makes perfect sense."

Valjean closed the distance between them. They were mere inches apart, and the intensity of the fear exponentiated. Javert could not move. He was trapped, trapped in a prison cell all over again.

He had forgotten it until this horrible creature touched him the second time and made him remember.

"I mean that I must make an exception. You would not consent to this...but I know in every way that this is for your own good. I know how that sounds, but--"

Javert watched in frozen captivation as the man who inverted his life slowly moved to embrace him. Arms snaked around his middle, and that beautiful face rested in the crook of his neck.

"I love you, and I need that love to succeed."

"...!!!"

It was warm and cold. Jean was perfect in his warmth, beyond mortal in the comfort he provided. But this also made it obvious that Javert needed comfort, something he had worked so hard to live without...because he knew he would never receive it. The void within him had begun to grow and spread, catalyzed by the temperature shift on the surface.

He could not return the embrace.

"Jean...please stop." His voice was high and undignified, and he could not even care.

"...I-I will not. Not this time...! I am so sorry, I hate this, I hate hurting you...but I must hurt you to bring you what you need."

The void was accelerating. Jean was encouraging it to reach the surface, trying to push it out as if the lack of humanity inside him could be leeched. The god's labor-hardened hands rubbed his back in an attempt to soothe him, but this only made it worse.

"Jn." He could not articulate anymore. "Stp. Hrts!!"

"...To be so young...and bear so much pain..."

Despair.

"God would tell me to forgive them, but I can feel what those people did to you. I am too weak to love them. I want to destroy them. But I need you before anything else...I need you, you complete my heart. If only we were born together..."

His head was swimming in black. His vision was losing focus.

"...But I finally found you. I searched for so long... _my very best friend, I will never lose you again_."

Empty.

 


	8. Chapter 8

In that timeless moment, Javert was dead.

The body which composed him was arbitrarily combined elements and currents of energy. The life form upon him was also arbitrary, and the contact was as meaningless as anything else, that being completely so. Sound and light and heat were disconnected from each other, merely colliding and going their separate ways without so much as an apology. Proteins and molecules and compounds and the reactions between them occurred without supervision, and that was neither fine nor unfine. It merely was.

"...I will always love you, and I will always be here to love you. I promise."

Deep within him, the constantly-fed core of sorrow, grown fat from decades of self-denial and harsh experiences...finally grew too weak to maintain itself. It spewed the last threads of its poison to the mind and body, and the nest it had formed crumbled under its own weight. Valjean still held him, and the damage of all those years of buried emotion began to slowly, painfully heal from the surface down to the soul.  
Javert eventually felt his conscience return to him. He remembered his soulmate's touch, recognized it in this moment. He realized he was buried in Jean's shoulder. He was sobbing very loudly. How embarrassing! Why was he...

...

.......?

.............!!!

"J...Jean..."

He felt his best friend's hand upon his neck, stroking it and massaging it. Jean was holding him even tighter.

"Shh...just let it happen. Trust me and just let it all out..." His voice was warbling, as if his throat was tight for some reason. Was Jean in pain? No, that would not do, stop that!

Javert slowly began to remember. The sights, the smells, the sounds, the pains, the pains, the pains, pains, pains pain pain pain pain hurt it hurt it always hurt why

He could not put it all together yet; it still made no sense. But he could not stop crying still. Jean holding him felt really, really, really good.

"I love you, Javert."

Love. A fine word, simple and fitting in the ear. Jean loved him, yes, he knew this. Jean had to love him, and Javert could only love Jean in return. It made sense. Why? Because it made sense...because it made sense, because it made sense. If it made no sense, then that was only because he was too stupid to see the truth. He was in love. Reasons for love were optional, as long as the love were true. Right? Javert loved Jean, son of Jean. What else mattered?

He remembered more now. Always second-class. Sometimes third-class. Always hungry, always desperate. Blamed for crimes. Called horrible, untrue things. Bullied, yes, beaten at times, interrogated, spit upon, asked to tell fortunes and ending up with no money. They said he was a heathen, so he should be thankful for God for just being alive.

Mother was...Mother...he could not remember her. But he had one, and she birthed him. Javert loved her for that. Father...father was somewhere, someplace, and that was fine. They were both gone. Gone? Gone, gone forever. Or were they?

He would never find them.

Jean felt perfect against him. Jean was perfect in every way, what else could explain this? Javert had stopped crying, but he was still shuddering.

"I can see it...the other half of me, what you experienced." Jean sounded calmer, but he was not truly calm. Javert felt his horror. "Not a decent heart in sight. No wonder... _no wonder you withdrew from me in the prison!_ I understand now, mon cher. No child should live like that. It broke you."

Broken. Javert thought that was normal, he never felt any different. But Jean was warm and kind. Javert felt more complete...

But...

But...

Javert groaned. The warmth bathing him so deeply had reached an obstacle.

"Javert...I am here. Let it out. All of it."

Anger.

"They..."

How...? They never even...!

"They...they just did whatever they wanted. To me. I was their pet, to decide if they wanted me to live or replace me."

Mother tried, but she could only do so much. He had forgotten because she pushed him to work hard. No one would accept him, she said, so he had to bear a horrible burden.

"Children can be brutes, Javert."

"Brutes...! A kind word. You were a brute, and you became a god. They were demons! Demons!"

Father never came home, not like for the other children. Mother said he was working as a galley slave, and they would get his earnings when he was released. He was never released, not while he was still with her.

"They were told it was fine to do so. I hate those who told them, I admit it, mon cher. But I am ashamed. They were ignorant."

"I WAS RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM! I WAS IN TEARS! I WAS STARVING! IS THAT SO HARD TO APPRECIATE?!"

"...It must be. The same happened to me."

The same. They were the same, even though they were different. Jean understood. The only one that really understood. Javert realized he was returning the embrace since some time ago.

"Adults, children...all of them. I was a nuisance to them. I tried to work as a child, but a child can only do so much. I was weak. I did whatever I could...I could have died very easily. And no one spared a thought."

"...You were neglected. Your abuse was sporadic, but your neglect was prolonged, I feel it. Javert..."

It twisted him. Neglect made him despise all of them.

"I hated her for it. Being dark-skinned, being a whore, getting married and pregnant from a thief. That was careless, but it created me...I wanted to never be. And the rest of them! No matter what they were, all of them for-for letting me struggle, I wanted them to burn."

"But you saw what happened to them."

Yes. The cruel ones, some of them, turning to crime. They were arrested! It was glorious!

"I wanted to arrest them. I wanted to make them pay. Gypsies. Thieves. Batterers. Rapists. All of them, they were all the same. I believed that. I wanted to cuff them and let them know I was better than them."

But he was not. He was a criminal. He forgave one. He let a fugitive cuddle him and comfort him. He found a husband in a man like his father, in a way. Were they similar? He would never know. He thought gods were not real, after all.

"You know the truth. You suffered, and you will not have to suffer anymore. The past is the past."

Those who still commit crime...

"Some need to be punished. All need to be educated. We must be careful. To sentence some inappropriately. To leave someone to abuse and neglect..."  
It twists them.

Jean still could not purge this last blackness within him...but once he felt the friction of the two colliding, he knew that this therapy was finished. The backbone of his spirit, the ambition that drove him forward, so much strength that he jealously claimed as his: suffering had forced him to develop all of this. And thus he was also defined by this suffering. But now he knew, beyond any doubt, that this was the way it was meant to be. Imperfect, yet complete. Godlike, yet fallible.

Jean's job was finished. And now he had to return the favor, or at least try.

"I am sorry, Jean."

Jean sighed, his grip relaxing.

"You mean...?"

His thief's memories. Harsh and sudden, thoughtless, miscalculating. Very similar, actually. Demons in black robes and turquoise coats, but that could...that could change. If Javert could be healed, then who knew? And Jean...so scared, so degraded...how dare they.

"You were wronged. I hardly need explain why. I hate them for it, as well. I should not hate them, but...actually, no. I do not hate them. I was just like them, and I know nothing of them."

"...Javert..."

He held his best friend more assertively, taking possession of him. Cords of sorrow unique to Jean quickly began to unfurl and unthread...all too easily. The dark core of his other half was revealed and secured without a fuss. Jean was better at releasing the past than he was. But perhaps Javert was better at keeping his mind in the present. Or was it the other way around?

Jean clutched his uniform coat, as if to say _yes_ to both. Definitely saying yes, he knew the man. He had always known him. How could Jean have been so horribly wronged, and he had stood idle the whole time?

"We were both wronged," answered Jean. "We hated. Now we are hale."

Others may not be. They need protection. The bliss of love, and the sanity of willpower. Together, the mind was well-founded and flexible, the body was bolstered and adaptive, and the soul had a chance to find its missing piece.

Protection via wholesomeness. Justice by way of eliminating evil thoughts, thereby preventing evil deeds.

"Can we do it, Jean?"

"I want to."

It will be hard. Javert was new to this. New emotion, unprotected.

"I will protect you...will you...?"

Yes.

"Javert...!"

Of course.

"I love you."

I love you, too.

Jean Valjean pulled his head up and kissed him.


	9. Chapter 9

 The rest was biology, albeit of a higher order.

Two men were locked in a chamber just big enough for two. Jean Valjean kissed his lover, and it was returned with vigor. Javert caressed his companion, and it was returned with desire. Words were useless.

They explored.

They disrobed.

Kisses turned deep and probing, tender and involved.

They prolonged it. Everything was new, even for Jean, because it had new meaning. Touch was warmth. Skin was life. Tongues were sweet and therapeutic. They prolonged this feeling of fitting together.

They were meant to do so, always were, and they now knew this in full certainty. They were unique. For whatever reason, they could heal each other and protect others almost effortlessly, as long as they kept this bond between them strong. And doing so was natural.

Javert felt perfect to Jean. Naked. Unguarded. Returning every ounce of effort he put forward and giving even more in kind.

Feeling Jean was indescribable for Javert.

Caresses became gropes and squeezes, reaching for the organ and orifice to feature in their very first rite. One of many to come.

They became impatient.

Jean was experienced, while Javert was nervous, when they came to the question of that ultimate intimacy. The former guided the latter. Javert managed to find space to lie on the floor. Jean kneeled in front of him. Then Jean pulled Javert up to him, pushing the legs up and forward to his own shoulders. Javert was on full display.

Jean kissed his husband.

Javert waited, eyes fixed on the thick organ aligned to stretch and fill him in ways he would have never dared imagine, before coming to this city.

The god of sex penetrated the god of chastity. Both of them staggered: raw, transcendent stimulation. Debauched ecstacy, merely from jutting hips forward to press into a tight hole. The first god did this so many times, but this was beyond comparison. The second god was speechless.

A perfect fit. Anyone who still doubted their godhood would be defeated at this revelation.

Jean began thrusting. Slowly. Trying to stay in control, but it was far more difficult than he anticipated.

Javert shuddered, shifting to fit more of his lover into him.

Jean leaned down and deliriously smothered his best friend's lips in tongue and saliva, before Javert accepted the kiss and deepened it.

Jean thrusted more quickly now.

They were already moaning, but now the noises they made now were ostensibly animalistic. Even though these noises were subdued by mashing tongues, a few growls and grunts would still be audible to any listeners, and it was becoming a crowd. The door to the chamber was thinner than it looked.

More deeply. Almost to the hilt.

Javert felt his innards part and squeeze around this fat prick that filled him, and he learned the trick. He contracted around Jean as it slid into him. Jean cried out in surprise, ended the kiss, and had to stop at the pressure building in his cock. He was...he was going to come.

Javert really was the key to his climax.

Full depth. Full speed. Full abandon.

Very noisy! lauded the citizens.

Jean buried his face in Javert's chest hair. Javert pressed his hands on Jean's buttocks to keep the pace furious, to feel them rebound from those hips thrusting to barge that prick so deeply inside him. Just a little more. A little more...!

No.

Jean wanted to weep at the bliss he finally received. The pressure built and built and finally broke the dam. His brain overloaded. His eyes lost focus. His entire body pulsed and twitched along with his prick, pumping and spilling semen carelessly inside Javert.

Javert started seeing stars. Now he could no longer contain his primitive urge to scream at the pulsing pleasure that rocked his form. He contracted his muscles with each twitch, pushing his climax as far as he could. He distantly felt something wet fall on his stomach.

Jean Valjean, after fifty-odd years, was no longer jealous of the white fluid on his partner's belly. He even dipped his head to lick and taste it. Pleasantly salty.

Javert felt like he had uttered the mantra of Paradise.


	10. Chapter 10

 M. Thenardier was rehabilitated.

In any other situation for this time, he would have been imprisoned, and the gods knew it. But right then and there, they had the power to alter fate, and they had every reason to start strong. Given their pasts and their abilities, the new couple could only devise one solution. And this solution surprised Javert especially, as he thought he had no inclination toward this. But after it was implemented, all of them had trouble walking afterward. Thenardier never looked happier in that moment, saying he felt born again. This joy faded after a few hours...but the bulk of the poison had already been removed.

He was reunited with his family, feeling worn but stable, and they decided to move to this Montreuil in case of any sudden negative development. Jean trusted that there would not be, and Javert promised that there would not be. Onlookers saw the promise made by the two men, together, and found themselves witness to the potential of a deep, durable peace at long last.

This new policy, conventional definitons of insanity notwithstanding, became the favorite method of conflict resolution and therapy for the city. Children no longer had to be herded away from scenes of depravity: rather, any questions they had were answered in the controlled environments of the church or the police station. Javert usually pushed them toward the church, as he still had to get used to the idea of children not fleeing in terror from him.

Marguerite was comforted after her incident. She preferred Javert during the affair, and Jean could not hide a miffed expression as he suckled her breasts. Javert felt peculiar with her doting on him, but his husband's frustration was amusing.

Fauchelevent and Victurnien had long since found comfort in each other, and so they needed no assistance from the gods. But they still sought it. As did many, many others. Revolting quantities, one might accuse if one were not there to breathe the atmosphere of it all.

One educated fellow named Felix visited the city on rumors of absolutely decadent pleasure, and Fantine recommended him on sight to the new leaders. They suggested she join them. After their time together, the man decided that a change in location seemed a sound idea. He was introduced to young Euphrasie, and he amazingly found he could not help declaring how precious she was. Upon their confusion, Fantine assured the mayor and chief of police that she could handle the situation from there. A few months later, the two of them married and announced they were expecting their second child. Those who were confused quickly inferred the truth and found the happy news to be nothing more. Only in a city like this.

In a scary change of pace, Valjean noticed several of the jury members and the judge that condemned him to Toulon were visiting. Javert stayed close to him during this time. The conviction they held for punishing criminals was very close to what Javert held...and he connected with them on this. He guided them through the new policy of the city and introduced the mayor honestly. After they cleaned up, they found Valjean's commitment to community service as an acceptable substitute for hard labor and promised to push this argument forward, should it come to court.

The question did come to court, and the large number of people speaking in Valjean's favor swayed the argument enough for the sitting judge. Upon hearing the tales of converted criminals, he decided that the sentence would be commuted to a yearly quota of prisoners from bagnes to be healed and returned to the community. This sentence was happily accepted, to put it mildly. The Crown decided that this was an acceptable exception to the rule, given the high profits Valjean's factory provided for France as a whole, as well as...

The bishop named Myriel had found his health improved after Valjean's visit. When he learned of his success in Montreuil-sur-Mer, as it was being announced widely, he managed to muster enough strength to visit him. Javert felt oddly disregarded as his lover threw arms and shed tears around the holy man. But the same man bestowed his blessing on Javert as he heard of the life he had lived. He whispered gravely to him that, for the few good years that were left to him, Javert had many, many more and had earned all of them.

Javert puzzled at the idea of heaven. He never took the idea too seriously, even less so for discovering his own godhood. But as Jean took his hand and dragged him to church - looking overjoyed at being able to do so - Javert concluded that heaven would be a fine place to meet Jean again. If they even died. The situation was difficult to determine.

Chabouillet and Thierry were two surprise visits to the renewed city. Neither of the men expected their eager student to ascend to a level like this, and understandably so. But the results spoke for themselves: not a crime in sight. Thierry in particular was impressed by the success rate of rehabilitated convicts (not all of them turned around, since any therapy needed certain types of patients to linger with the therapists for a time, but 85% was a number to boast). Javert had never been particularly 'close' to these men, merely respecting them. But this changed very quickly.

The Thenardier clan now proudly stood as the first proof of the two gods on the sea. Young Cosette enjoyed playing with Eponine in particular, and the city leaders enjoyed seeing the long-term results of their work. The parents were well, finding comfort in each other (and the city leaders) with ease. The children were well, finding that making new friends was simple with some playful teasing. And any difficulties that might arise posed no anxiety that could not be managed. Perhaps that was optimistic. But with sex gods, anything is possible. Anything, except...

Jeanne Valjean did not visit her brother. But her children did, and their children. Jean found it impossible to find words for the sight they made together, the notion of it, the dream that was too fragile to float on the harsh winds of fate. The youngest was twenty-seven, and he solemnly told his uncle that his poor sister...passed away peacefully in her sleep. That she had lived well enough for what had happened.

Javert was humbled at the sight: not every plight in this new life would be answered, nor would they be able to right every wrong. He was very helpful to his best friend for a while afterward and insisted on cuddling him when they went to bed. He could not stop those tears that tore at his heartstrings, but Jean clung to him nonetheless.

No family visited Javert. He knew was alone before all of this, that his parents were long gone, as were his husband's. Jean came to understand this as well, all his silent ponderings of distance relatives defeated. He vowed even deeper loyalty to the lonely man, even though he saw as clearly as Javert that some damage could never be repaired.

Jean Valjean and Javert were understood to be a couple, but Javert found that his faith in the church, for what it was, had grown just enough to give his lover a proper wedding. Jean was dumbstruck at the suggestion, especially as Javert decided to propose on one knee as something of a joke. Jean did not take it as a joke, and Javert knew deep down that he had wanted to do it for a while. The wedding was massive with so many people wishing them well, and the reception was loud and obnoxious and filled more than a little promiscuity. Javert had to corral a few of them, but he stopped as his church-recognized husband pulled him into an alleyway just out of view. Some things never change.

But daring to ask if things can change is a good way to see them for what they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened.
> 
> Feel free to criticize my work! I love this stupid thing, I have to admit. But if you wish to make observations, then I will read them. I hope Stephanie likes it, even though it deviated a liiiiiiiiiitle from her idea. Oh well. This is dedicated to you, because my dumb pervert brain loves a dumb pervert prompt. Stay safe, rape is bad, and treat each other with respect!


End file.
